


burning despair does ache

by kxrapikaz



Series: kxrapikaz vent time woohoo [2]
Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Death, Gen, How Do I Tag, Written for a Class, death is just illumi, kurapika dies woah, was gonna be chrollo but i hate him with a burning passion and i couldnt bring myself to write it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:33:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26760685
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kxrapikaz/pseuds/kxrapikaz
Summary: in which kurapika encounters death far too many times to be comfortable.
Series: kxrapikaz vent time woohoo [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1986907
Comments: 6
Kudos: 10





	burning despair does ache

When Death looms over me like a shadow, imposing and dark and impossibly heavy, He does not intimidate me. I ask, “Who are you?”, my voice rasped and guttural. He does not respond, staring at me instead with dark eyes that sit, hollowed in His skull and devoid of light. A pale, impossibly skeletal hand reaches out for me, skin stretched taught over bone and tendons. It is cold -- I know that much without having to even touch Him. The air is frigid, right to the bone, and I feel the numbness of the cold seeping into my core.

I shiver, looking up at Him. He is tall, draped in robes that shift and glimmer with trapped faces, each twisted in agony and perplexity; they drip from His atrophied form and pool at His feet. He does not speak; His lips, tight and narrowed, are as pale as the rest of Him. Upon closer inspection, His skin is almost translucent. I do not see the blue of His veins or the flush of life in His skin, and it is almost eerie to see Him, standing so regally at the foot of my bed and yet not moving an inch. I watch, my body frozen, waiting to see the rise and fall of His chest. There is no movement, and I blink. Once again, I speak. “Why are you here?”

The hand closes, clenching and unclenching. His lips remain tightly glued together, and when I blink once more, He is gone. I recall a distant memory, a faint recollection of a hazy figure dressed in swimming black robes, and I immediately know that it was Him. 

_ I was running, legs tripping over roots and branches and arms flailing blindly in front of me. I do not remember why I was running, or what I was running from; running from? Perhaps I was chasing something, though the adrenaline surging through my blood vessels made that seem unlikely. I do remember seeing Him, though. He was distant, shadowed by the trees and the twilight and the blur in my peripheral vision, but I am certain that it was Him. I remember that same unnerving twist in my gut, that same lump in my throat that couldn’t seem to be swallowed, and something deep-rooted within me tells me that He was the cause. My feet continued to move, skidding through layers of muck and sludge and half-decomposed leaves that lay slippery and wet underfoot. And still He lingered: far enough that I could barely feel the cold that emanated from His being, but more than close enough, close enough to find His presence oppressive and grinding and entirely overwhelming. I recall the burn in my thighs, the biting sensation of eyes boring into my back, and I shudder. _

I know that He watched me, His gaze pointed in my direction as I faded into the murky shadows of the trees, and that thought unsettles me more than our encounter beside my bed. Seeing Him so close, watching me so blatantly with such little shame, is jarring, and yet bizarrely comforting. Perhaps it is knowing that He is inevitable, knowing that His arms will be open, knowing that He will always be waiting. Or perhaps it is the truly tantalising concept of an eternal rest, of extensive blackness that stretches on and on without end. Something about the idea of my body sinking deeper and deeper into that same comforting black is wildly tempting, and the thought makes my head swim. 

The next time I see Him, I am older. My body is weak, trembling atop linen bed sheets. The room I lie in is decorated handsomely, and opulent drapes surround my bed and dance across the stone walls. They flow beside me, red velvet cascading from the bedposts like rivers of blood. I gulp. I taste a familiar salt metal in the back of my throat and push another rasped cough from my chest. It tears through me, bringing tears to my eyes as it grazes my oesophagus; I feel weak and fatigue tugs at my eyelids when I see Him. He hovers in the corner of the room, half-blended into the shadows as He stares, eyes wide and unblinking. When I stare back, more and more of His appearance becomes clear. Instead of flickering and indistinct, He is now exigent, perfectly defined and almost scarily vivid. His hair ripples down his back, slicked away from His face and shines in the flickering light of the candelabra, contrasting perfectly against the ivory of His skin, and I cannot bring myself to look away. His slender figure edges closer, His footsteps silent and hidden by His clothing -- He seems to be almost gliding, hovering above the stone tile as He makes His way toward the bed. Again, I am not scared, nor am I intimidated. I expected this, have been waiting for this, and I greet Him like an old friend. 

“Will you allow me to take you?” His voice is soft, rich and smooth, dripping like dark, melted chocolate and His tone is more inquisitive than anything else. I nod wordlessly, and outstretch a wrinkled hand. Gelid, attenuated fingers wrap around my own, and I exhale as He leads me towards a forever canvas of sable blackness. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> this one was initially written in like. early july or some shit as an assignment for school but its sexy and i was very much projecting onto kurapika as a narrator when i wrote this and also i have been promising Two people a kp angst oneshot so like ... take this
> 
> s/o to sexies kurapikano and shm00mzz for being sexy and poggers


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